


lights on

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Series: cop neighbors au [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, cop neighbor au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: Lexa has Christmas duty at the station. Her neighbors Clarke and Raven would have none of it. It’s as easy—and as complicated—as that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I figured if there’s any verse that should get a holiday installment, it should be this one.  
> Or, alternatively, _holiday hymns for teenagers._  
>  Happy holidays, friends :) Enjoy.

The drive back to the station is long, but Lexa and Anya manage it anyway, rolling to a slow stop at the precinct garage just before nightfall. It’s been one of their busier Christmas Eves, unsurprisingly filled with noise complaint calls, and that one shooting at the far end of town, but in all it’s been none too worrisome, just exhausting. 

The paperwork, however, are another matter entirely, and Lexa isn’t too excited about spending a generous amount of tonight’s Christmas Eve duty submerged in files. _Well, there are worse ways to greet Christmas,_ she just thinks, hauling herself into the station on weary limbs.

“Listen,” says Anya, when they’re back in the locker rooms and changing out of their vests. Lexa unbuttons her uniform deftly without looking, before hanging it carefully back into her locker and changing into something more… _breathable._

“What’s up?” asks Lexa, stretching for a moment as she straightens out her tank top.

“My sister’s hosting this Christmas Eve dinner—”

“—and it’s in, what, half an hour?” Lexa completes for her, tapping her watch. “I remember. You’ve been apologizing for this for the past two weeks.”

Anya sighs, scratching her head. “I know, it’s just that—we’ve been patrolling over Christmas Eve since forever, and it feels like I’m bailing on you or something.”

“What? No, hell no,” Lexa replies, punching Anya’s arm playfully. It lands with a soft thwack and puts a small smile on Anya’s face. “Your sister hasn’t been in town in _ages_ , you’re definitely going.”

“Thanks,” Anya says, giving Lexa a brief one-armed hug before slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

Lexa shrugs. “It’s just files,” she says. Christmas Eve duty hereabouts is usually uneventful, though Lexa had always looked forward to whatever food Anya’s bringing over. “I’ll miss your onion rings though, true story.”

Anya laughs. “I’ll make you a bucket next time, I promise.” And then: “Merry Christmas, Lex. Send my hugs to Clarke and Raven?”

“Will do,” says Lexa, giving Anya a light shove, as if showing her the door. “Merry Christmas, Ahn—now don’t be late to that dinner!”

*

With Anya finally out of the station, and the rest of the squad leaving one by one, Lexa takes a look at the files sitting on her desk and tries not to yawn. _Here goes,_ she thinks, reaching for one as she settles into her seat more comfortably.

She’s halfway through with her first one when her phone rings. “Hello?”

“Hey there, do you have dinner plans?”

Of course, Lexa has told Clarke about the customary Christmas Eve duty—even clarifying that she is more likely to make it to a Christmas Day brunch than Christmas Eve drinks with Raven. But just in case the inherent busyness of the season has gotten to her, Lexa decides it doesn’t hurt to remind her one more time. 

“Clarke,” says Lexa, sighing as she puts the document down, careful not to mix it in with the rest of the files. “Christmas Eve duty—remember?”

“I do,” says Clarke cheerily. “I’m still asking about dinner plans anyway.”

Lexa eyes the wrapped sandwich sitting at the corner of her table. “I’m not sure yet, but I can assure you there is one,” she says.

“Let me guess: You’re eating a sandwich at your desk.”

 _Goddamn it._ “Maybe?”

On the other end of the line, Clarke sounds like she is trying very hard not to snort. “Not that it was that hard to guess—you’re pretty standard and predictable. Anyway, that’s okay—Raven and I have a suggestion.” 

“A suggestion?”

“Yeah—wanna watch while we prep dinner?”

Had Lexa been drinking anything, she would have readily choked on it. “Excuse me?”

“Promise it’d be fun! Right, Rae?” There’s a loud and prolonged ‘yeah’ in the background that hints accurately at Raven’s excitement on the matter. “We’re doing pasta, prepping some salsa for the nachos, and we’re pretty entertaining to watch. You _know_ this.”

Oh, Lexa _knows._ All too well even, considering she’s watched dinner prep for countless times, sitting in the living room or helping out set the table, and no two dinner preps are ever the same. It’s been a comfortable routine, and Lexa feels a dull ache start in her chest. _It’s Christmas Eve,_ she thinks, taking a moment before finally firing up her laptop.

_Might as well._

“Fine,” she says. “One condition: Keep it PG, please? I’m trying to work here.”

The way Clarke laughs in her ear makes her shiver. “Fine,” Clarke replies. “Best effort, I guess.”

*

Lexa realizes a bit too late that having Skype open on her laptop might be a bit risky, but what the hell. It’s Christmas Eve, and some people are Skype-ing with family, right? Besides, this way, both her hands are free to sift through documents and write, or what-not.

When Clarke puts on some music— _Is she seriously making dinner to Christmas carols by Jackson 5??—_ Lexa sits back and laughs. “Seriously?” she says into her earpiece.

“It’s Christmas Eve, okay,” Clarke says. Judging by the angle, they probably put Clarke’s laptop on a table by the far wall, so it can capture as much of the room as possible. “Of all nights that I _could_ blast this out, it’s tonight.”

“Of course,” says Lexa. “Don’t turn it up that much—noise complaints, ok?”

“Would that mean you’d be here earlier to respond to that, or—”

“ _Raven,_ ” says Lexa.

“I was _kidding,_ ” Raven counters, just as the playlist shifts. “Hey, did you know that Mariah Carey’s stream count starts _soaring_ around October? I mean, ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’ is what basically sustains her, just saying.”

“Didn’t peg you for a fan, Rae,” says Lexa, squinting at her screen, which shows Raven exiting into the kitchen and leaving the living room empty. “Hey, where are you?”

Their giggling over the Christmas tunes starts a warm blush up Lexa’s neck. “We’re in the kitchen, chief,” says Raven. “Just making sure Clarke doesn’t burn anything.”

“Excuse me?” Clarke protests before laughing, just as the playlist shifts again from Mariah to Ariana. _This is ridiculous, it’s an empty screen,_ Lexa thinks, but with their voices and laughter in ear, it makes for an entirely curious experience. _Just like that, we’re back where we started, aren’t we?_ Lexa has to try to rein in a laugh of her own.

When Clarke walks out, it looks like she’s wearing nothing but an apron. “Hey—what did I say about keeping this PG??” Lexa calls her out, voice strained. Clarke looks innocently at the camera and turns around slowly to reveal that she’s _in fact_ wearing a tank and shorts—just a criminally short one.

“This _is_ PG,” Clarke says, blowing the camera a kiss before disappearing off the edge of the screen again.

 _Christ._ Lexa tries to go back to her document and focus despite the sounds in her ear—still a mix of Christmas carols and banter, of a busy kitchen and laughter. It oddly feels like listening through the walls.

 _Right back where we started, indeed,_ she just thinks.

*

Raven starts breaking out the drinks just as Clarke moves to salsa prep. Suddenly, Lexa is too aware of how thirsty she is, just hearing the bottles clinking together, and that unmistakable fizzing out of air.

“You’re killing me here, Reyes,” says Lexa, trying not to look at the screen.

“No drinking and documenting for you, ma’am,” says Raven, and when Lexa takes a peek at her screen, Raven has already walked up to the camera, beer bottle in hand. She makes a slow show of drinking, and Lexa has to turn away abruptly, flustered. “Thirsty, chief?” Raven asks, punctuating her low drawl with a laugh.

Before Lexa can even form words, Clarke wraps her arms from behind Raven, perching her face over Raven’s shoulder. “Stop torturing her,” she says, ostensibly to Raven, although the way she’s looking straight at the camera—at Lexa—as she says it _is,_ actually, the exact definition of torture _._

“You’re not helping, Clarke,” Lexa says finally, breathing in. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat; it’s like someone has turned the AC off, or something. She turns back to her paper and tries to read, but the letters are swimming right before her eyes, especially since Clarke and Raven have started murmuring unintelligibly at each other.

When she looks back at the screen, Raven is whispering into Clarke’s ear while Clarke drinks from the bottle, head tilted, her lips wrapped around the glass.

Lexa blinks. _Oh._ And then, clearing her throat, “Excuse me? I’m sitting right here.”

“Oh, we _know_ ,” says Raven, hand coming up to stroke the side of Clarke’s face. In response, Clarke snuggles further into her, _purring._  

 _Fucking—_ “Stop that!” says Lexa, trying to keep her voice low. She tilts her screen a bit lower—god forbid someone walks into the station at this very moment. “You _promised._ ”

Clarke blinks innocently for good measure. “What?”

Lexa looks at the clock, then back at the pile of papers she still had left on her desk.

It’s going to be a long night.

*

When the doorbell rings, Clarke scrambles to her feet with a tiny squeal. “We ordered reinforcements,” says Raven, watching Clarke struggle with the door and briefly flirt with the delivery guy. Lexa rolls her eyes, trying to keep Clarke’s legs out of her sight.

“Reinforcements?” Lexa asks.

“Pizza and wings!” says Clarke, closing the door with her hip. “What could possibly go wrong with pizza and wings, right?”

Raven reaches for a box, opens one and inhales. “Goddamn, this smells amazing,” she says giddily, looking at the camera before reaching in for a slice. “Wish you were here, chief,” she says before taking a bite—and _moaning._

 _What the hell._ “That’s totally uncalled for, Reyes,” says Lexa, voice tight. “Totally unfair.”

“Mhm, of course,” Raven says, stepping out of the screen to reveal Clarke sitting on the floor facing the low table in the middle of the room, now filled with food. “Would you rather watch Clarke eating wings then?”

“Who, me?” asks Clarke. She’s got her hair up now, and Lexa can’t help but linger at her neck. “I got the garlic parmesan ones you like, we’ll make sure to leave some for you, okay?” she says to the camera, licking her fingers very slowly.

 _The fuck. It’s like they’re taking turns killing me,_ Lexa thinks, her mind freezing for a moment. After a bit, she regains her faculties well enough to speak. “Yeah, uh. Thanks. I’d love some.”

“Yours for the taking—all you gotta do is come and get it,” says Clarke.

“Jesus, please don’t say ‘come’ out loud in this call,” Lexa pleads softly, surprised that she actually says it aloud.

Clarke just laughs. “There’s pizza, too,” Raven chimes in. “You should definitely come.”

*

This is perhaps the sloppiest work that Lexa will ever turn in, but at this point she doesn’t really care anymore. She has even taken Clarke and Raven off her laptop and transferred the video call to FaceTime on her phone.

“Fine, you win,” says Lexa, setting her phone upright against a mug. Like this, she has to squint a bit to figure out what’s happening—and maybe that’s for the better. “You’re now off my laptop and on my phone.”

“Ooh,” Clarke says. “Does that mean we can misbehave now?”

“You’ve been misbehaving all night!” says Lexa, and Raven just giggles. “What? You have!”

“Oh we have _not,_ ” Raven says, setting her beer bottle on the table and standing up before helping Clarke up on her own wobbly knees; Clarke giggles drunkenly, and Lexa has to restrain herself from making any sound. She listens in for music; the playlist has shifted out of Christmas and into something more muted, wrapping over everything like a warm towel.

“Really?” Lexa asks, her tone growing softer as she tries to decipher what is happening in the living room. _Oh._

Raven is taking Clarke dancing, hand braced at Clarke’s hip to lead. Even from this smaller screen, Lexa could tell how _lightly_ this hand treads, and yet how efficient; Clarke follows the beat effortlessly, flowing along with Raven’s movement, taking her cue from Raven’s hand.

“ _Really,_ Lex,” Raven speaks again, eyes on Clarke. “You should see us when we’re _actually_ misbehaving.”

 _Maybe not through a screen,_ Lexa just thinks, crossing her legs, shifting in her seat and saying nothing.

Raven navigates them around the living room, hips pressed together in a way that has Lexa licking at her lips. When Clarke twirls, Raven retrieves one of the bottles and takes a swig.

“If you keep going, I’ll never catch up,” says Lexa, her throat dry.

“Then you better get here soon,” Clarke says.

*

It tapers slightly after they dance it out; Raven breaks away after sharing a brief kiss with Clarke before stepping out of the screen.

“Where’d she go?” Lexa asks, swallowing hard.

Clarke stretches on the sofa. “Oh, she’ll be back,” she says, not really answering the question. Raven takes that as her cue to walk back in, waving at the camera and Lexa and gesturing to the pack in her hand.

“I think I need a cigarette,” Raven says, moving toward the window, presumably to open it. “I mean, don’t you?”

Clarke laughs, slipping a cigarette out of the pack and lighting it. She takes a drag before passing it on to Raven, who slips into Clarke’s lap for good measure. _Oh here we go._

“I could use a cig, to be honest,” says Lexa, patting absently around her person for her own pack. She finds it in her breast pocket and fishes it out. She looks at the papers still on her table—diminished significantly by now, _no mean feat considering the challenges,_ and she supposes she could step out for a smoke. “You know what—I’m doing that, hang on.”

She pockets her phone for the time being and keeps her earphones on, just in case. She finds a relatively secluded spot just outside the precinct and lights up, taking a few drags in the cold dark before retrieving her phone.

When she tunes back in, Raven and Clarke are sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. _Is that a pack of cards?_ “What’s happening?”

“Poker is happening,” says Raven. “Have you ever watched Clarke play? She’s hilarious.”

“That’s Raven’s code for ‘horrible at this’, by the way, and I’m only playing because it’s _strip,_ ” Clarke explains, face deadpan as she distributes the cards.

“It’s _what?_ ” asks Lexa, taking the cigarette out of her mouth.

“Strip. Poker. Don’t tell us you have never—”

 _Mother of god._ “Yes, I know what strip poker is, Raven,” says Lexa, leaning against the wall behind her. “Clarke—why are you even playing if you’re horrible at this?”

“So I could take my clothes off?” says Clarke, still not looking at the camera as she tries to decipher her hand. Lexa groans. “ _Kidding._ Of course I’m not taking my clothes off tonight—Raven is.”

“Sure babe,” Raven laughs, rearranging her cards and slyly winking at the camera. “Come to watch us play, chief?” she asks.

“You _guys_ ,” Lexa whines, taking a long, slow drag.

*

By the end of Lexa’s third cigarette, Clarke is _clearly_ drunk and losing, and Raven laughs as she demands for Clarke’s shirt. “That’s _not_ even a hand, Clarke,” she tells her, examining the cards she’d just laid down. “The numbers, the suits—how there is clearly no pattern here is astonishing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clarke says, waving her hand dismissively as she slips her tank top off and tosses it at Raven. “Fine. Here’s your shirt.”

Raven laughs. “Thank you,” she says, eyeing Clarke before turning to the camera. “How are you holding up there, Lex?”

Lexa blinks. “What? Oh.” She takes a last drag before crushing the cigarette against the wall. “I’m fine. I’m going inside. I mean—back. Inside. The precinct.”

“We got you the first time, babe,” says Raven. And then, to Clarke: “You ready to go again?”

Clarke straightens her bra, snapping the straps. The sound sends a very distinct sensation straight to Lexa’s groin. “Bring it on,” she says, and Lexa takes a deep breath before pushing the station door open.

She’s about to take a seat when the phone on her desk rings. _Shit._ Lexa almost drops her phone in surprise. “That’s work,” she just tells them before tugging her earphones out and slipping her phone into her drawer. She takes a moment to compose herself before answering the phone, pen in hand.

It’s their boss, asking about the night shift so far, and Lexa explains in her best unflustered voice that she had been filing paperwork, and that’s pretty much it.

“Okay then,” he says. “You can call it a night as soon as you finish.”

Lexa blinks. “Excuse me sir?”

“You heard me. Call it a night. We got the new kids on call. Rivers is even out with her _sister._ Surely, you have better places to be?”

Lexa swallows hard, sneaking a peek into her phone in her drawer. Without sound, she can’t understand much of it—Raven is clapping and pointing at the pile of cards between them, while Clarke is waving her hand about, as if in protest, before— _oh._

Clarke reaches behind her, and even without sound Lexa _knows_ how Clarke’s bra would sound when unclasped and she hears that anyhow, clear and crisp in her head, as if she were the one unclasping it herself; almost feels the fabric against her fingertips—

“ _Officer Vine,_ ” the voice in her ear interrupts, and Lexa is jolted back to the station. _Her boss._ “I asked a question.”

“Sir,” says Lexa, trying not to look as Clarke strips out of her bra slowly, making a show of it for Reyes, who looks as if she has all but forgotten that Lexa even exists on the other side of this phone call.

“Thank you, sir,” Lexa says softly. Her lips are dry, but she bets she could find a wet spot right where Raven is sitting. “I’ll be off in a bit sir—I just—I just have to finish the documents. Thank you.”

She lowers the phone gently back to its cradle before slipping her phone out of the drawer and tucking the earphones back into her ear.

“—definitely still got it, Griffin,” Raven’s saying. Clarke crawls closer, cards sticking to her knees, trying to make it like she’s predator stalking prey. Her laugh gives her away, and when she reaches Raven, she tackles her to the floor, collapsing in a fit of giggles.

“That tickles,” Clarke says, her voice hoarse.

“I am not doing anything,” says Raven, running her hands up and down Clarke’s sides. Raven struggles to sit up with Clarke straddling her, until they reach a position of truce: With Clarke sitting astride Raven’s lap, Raven’s palms covering her up.

_Oh, fuck._

“Are you still there, babe?” Clarke calls out, like she’s suddenly remembering that Lexa’s still in the call. She turns her face toward the camera; she has that drunken blush working for her very well, it’s _surreal._ Lexa surveys ground zero: Cards strewn all over the floor, empty beer bottles on the table, cigarette ash tray on the far end.

And of course, Clarke’s pile of clothes on the sofa.

 _Great, just. Mother of god._ Lexa shakes her head, takes a deep breath, clears her throat. “I think I need a drink,” she says, laughing nervously. She reaches for the papers in the done pile and straightens them out before pushing them into an envelope and slipping them inside her filing cabinet. _Just a bit more, Vine. You can do this._

“Do you now?” Raven asks, and even with this small screen Lexa can _see_ how her hands flex over Clarke’s bare chest. Clarke lets out a groan, rearranging herself on Raven’s lap.

“I think—I think we still have beer?” Clarke says, biting down on her lip.

“We still have a little bit of everything,” Raven confirms, and Lexa groans as she watches wordlessly how Raven tugs and squeezes; how Clarke writhes in her lap, top off and skin flushed. “If you come quickly enough, maybe you’d have some soon.”

“ _Please,_ ” Lexa whispers, scratching at her screen, like that’s going to stop Clarke from unbuttoning her shorts.

“Please what?” asks Raven.

“You know what,” Clarke replies, hands running up her own thighs.

When Raven swats Clarke’s hands away, Clarke whimpers so loudly, Lexa could barely keep in the sound she makes in response at the sight. At all of it. 

“Hear that, chief?” Raven asks, pulling Clarke even closer. “Clarke’s waiting. _I’m_ waiting.”

Beat.

“What are _you_ waiting for?”

*

The drive home is long—longer than she even remembers, and Lexa has to try hard not to run red lights along the way.

_Just a bit more._

When she gets to their floor, she tries to compose herself for a bit before knocking—if only to retain a bit of dignity. Truth be told, she’s been A Mess since ending the phone call and exiting the station. _Scratch that,_ she thinks, _I’ve been a right mess way before that._

There’s shuffling at the other end of the door after Lexa’s knock, and for a moment Lexa worries that the drunk idiots would come to the door naked, or something. _Oh god,_ Lexa thinks, walking up to cover the door as it swings open.

It’s Clarke who pokes her head out. “Hey there,” she says, as Lexa steps in quickly and closes the door behind her. When she turns back to Clarke, it looks like she’d just thrown on one of Raven’s shirts in a hurry.

“Your shirt’s on backwards,” Lexa says, trying to ignore the way her nipples are poking through the fabric. _Why so angry, girls?_ She wanted to ask, but she figures she could save the cheek for a little later.

“We were… distracted,” Clarke says coyly, reaching for Lexa’s hand and pulling her in to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“Distracted, really?” asks Lexa, letting Clarke lead her into the kitchen, where Raven is eating pizza by the counter. “Hey there, Reyes,” Lexa greets, and Raven runs into her open arm for a hug. Lexa takes a bite off her pizza for good measure. “I’m famished. Aren’t you?”

Clarke breaks away to get a fresh round of beers from the fridge. “And thirsty, I assume,” says Clarke, pressing the cold bottle into Lexa’s hand.

“That I am,” Lexa admits, walking into the living room and settling on the couch. “So. Do I have to ask who won poker?” she asks. Clarke blushes.

“Winning is relative,” Raven says, winking.

“ _Really_?” asks Lexa incredulously. “In that span of time that I took to drive from the station?”

Clarke swats Raven’s arm as she passes her on the way to Lexa’s lap. “Well, it’s not exactly—let’s just say it’s a _to be continued_ kind of deal,” she clarifies.

“Yeah, we sort of got interrupted,” Raven says, seating herself on Lexa’s other side. “By _knocking,_ imagine that? On Christmas Eve, too.”

“How inconsiderate,” says Lexa, smiling as she watches Raven run her hands over her shirt buttons and start unbuttoning them. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” Clarke hums, chiming in and tapping at her belt buckle. “Off?”

Lexa takes a sip from her drink before putting it away. _Well, did I expect this to go slow?_ “Be my guest,” says Lexa, nodding. Clarke makes quick work of it, snapping it open and pulling it off with a small click and a soft swish.

“Well?” Clarke asks, just as Raven proceeds to push Lexa’s shirt off her shoulders, her warm hands on Lexa’s skin a stark contrast to the cool air blowing in from the open window. 

To be frank about it, Lexa doesn’t quite know what to do first.

Luckily, Clarke decides that for her, as she chooses to sit astride Lexa’s lap, arms looped around the back of Lexa’s neck loosely. Like this, Lexa can feel where Clarke is warm _exactly,_ and Lexa can’t help the small groan that escapes her at the realization.

“That interruption was rude,” Clarke whispers, starting a slow, almost imperceptible grind.

“Was it?” Lexa manages, throat dry. “Anything I can do to help with that?” Beside her, she can feel Raven skimming the skin of Clarke’s thigh, drawing light circles where she could manage. “Anything _we_ could do?”

Clarke just nods, swallowing hard. Her eyes are closed, like she’s focusing. _Hot damn._ As it is, Clarke is already all too warm under her hands, and Lexa finds herself hiking Clarke’s shorts up even higher, mapping the skin underneath with her palms.

“Is this okay?” asks Lexa.

“Shut up and just touch me,” Clarke says, hand closing around Lexa’s wrist.

Beside her, Raven comes closer, giggling. “Merry Christmas, Lex,” she just says, planting a kiss just behind her ear.

 

 


	2. postscript

_Postscript._

 

Morning comes harshly, greeting Lexa on the couch, and she jolts awake, disoriented. _Where am I?_

Thankfully, when she looks around, she still sees the remains of the night: The half-empty bottles still standing on the table; Lexa’s shirt hanging at the back of a chair; the pile of cards hastily gathered in one corner. 

 _Clarke._ Lexa stands, gathering the bottles gingerly and stowing them in the kitchen for disposal later. When she looks down, she’s already in her boxers. _Oh._ She walks toward the bedroom, pushing open the door.

Inside, Clarke and Raven are burrowed under the sheets, curled up together. Lexa contemplates waking them but decides against it altogether. _Let them sleep, it’s fucking Christmas, you sadist._ She walks away, keeping the door ajar so she could hear them stirring awake later.

She retrieves her phone on the table near the window and unlocks it. She squints at the screen: One missed call from Anya.

 _Well, might as well._ She finds the last cigarette and lights up, a formal greeting to the most celebrated day of the year.

“Hello?”

“Hey Ahn—happy fucking Christmas,” Lexa greets, exhaling smoke out the window. “How was dinner?”

“Happy fucking Christmas to you, too, Vine,” Anya greets in return. “Dinner was swell. How was duty?”

Lexa can’t help the small laugh that escapes her. “It’s a long story.”

“A long story? Christmas Eve duty?” Anya asks, incredulous. “Lexa— _spill._ ”

Lexa takes a deliberately slow drag before laughing, again. “It’s—look, I’ll tell you when we see each other, it’s better told in person.”

“You’re horrible,” says Anya. “Where are you?”

“At home,” Lexa replies. The answer is out so automatically that she doesn’t have time to analyze it. _Home._ “I mean. Next-door. Clarke and Raven’s. Last night, we—well. You know the rest.”

“ _Ah,_ ” says Anya. “Well. Looks like Christmas Eve went _fiiiine._ ”

“ _Ahn_.”

“Don’t Ahn me,” Anya warns, and Lexa tries not to laugh out too loudly, lest she wake the entire household so early in the morning. “You owe me an account of Christmas Eve duty.”

“You owe me Christmas Eve onion rings.”

“Fine.”

Lexa breathes in, stubbing out her cigarette after one last drag. “Merry Christmas, Anya. Send my love to Tris.”

“We were just heading out for breakfast,” says Anya. “I wanted to also say something about sending my love to Clarke and Raven, but I assume you already sent loads last night—"

“ _Anya._ ”

“Bye, Lexa. See you tomorrow.”

As if on cue, the house stirs awake just as she ends the call, with Clarke and Raven walking out of the bedroom one after the other, sheets wrapped around their otherwise still naked selves. Lexa tries not to stare too hard.

“Morning,” Lexa greets instead. “Christmas coffee?”

Clarke just grins sleepily at her, while Raven stretches and yawns.

“Christmas coffee sounds amazing.”

 

#


End file.
